Friday, July 30, 2010

Recently, I witnessed an ad for an upcoming show, featuring a discussion of the best batting stances of all time.

Wait what?

The best batting stances of all time?

Yo, I watch Sportcenter. It's true. And I'll watch Outside the Lines, Baseball Tonight, and NFL Live. Yeah, every once in a while they'll have a lame discussion, and then Stephen A Smith will show up yelling about white devils, the NBA being racist, and other retarded stuff. To a reasonable ear, his rants come across as poorly spoken half-english, half-gibberish. But that's not the point. OK the point is always: fuck Stephen A Smith. Sorry, I meant Stephen A Smiff.

BUT the other point is that some dumb shits at ESPN think I might be interested in a show about the best batting stances of all time.

The best pitchers of all time, the best home run hitters of all time, the best championship teams of all time, the best bench clearing brawls of all time, the best baseball boners of all time, the best Lou Piniella meltdowns of all time, the Best Westerns of all time - these are all things that would make for an infinitely more interesting television program than one about batting stances.

Think about it: you're going to have a bunch of cracker ass honkeys talking about people essentially just standing around. Just standing around. Cause that's what batters do, when they're in a batting stance. They stand there.

And what's the only way to make just standing around even worse? Make them wait for something. They're waiting for a pitch.

From the ages of roughly 3, to about 19 (28 if you count holiday visits), I would pick my nose and wipe them under my mom's coffee table. That's about a million times more interesting than John Kruk's batting stance.

If I ever remember, I'll film a 20 minute segment talking about that. I may invite a few friends over, have a little panel-type discussion, and then have my mom come out, and drop the bomb on her. Heck yeah.

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

We've all seen stupid movies. Though it seems that I seem to see more than most people.

So you watch a movie, and 2 hours later, you're pissed that it sucked. How does that PUMP YOU UP?

Have you seen that stupid movie? If not, don't bother - he dies in the end.

And oh god this is probably horrible, but did you catch that? He dies at the end. How does that change the world, or my life, or anything? It doesn't.

Oh yeah, but that movie was BASED ON A TRUE STORY. And some shithead-gone nature-boy slowly killing himself PUMPS ME UP.

AWESOME.

Think of it this way: culling the herd. And you know what comes in a herd? Cows come in a herd. And you know what cows make? They make goddamn awesome tasty hamburgers. HECK YEAH THEY DO. Huge-ass tasty hamburgers PUMP ME UP.

Heck yeah that's what cows make: AWESOME BURGERS.

Usually when we make burgers, we stuff them fulla cheese, add an egg on top, and some bacon; then by this point, we've had a couple beers, and holy shit they taste so good. But yo, when we're traveling, we head to our favorite burger spot.

And they just got one in Gainesville! SUPER PUMP!!! But we left Gainesville 2 days ago.

SUPER UNPUMP!

Oh wait, wait, I feel a massive PUMP COMING BACK

OH SHITTITS NEW MAROON 5 SONG AND NOTHING PUMPS ME UP MORE THAN MAROON 5 GODDAMN RIGHT.

NEW ALBUM COMES OUT 9/21, EXPECT A SHITLOAD OF HDPUs AND OTHER POSTS COVERING THIS IMPORTANT TOPIC.

Monday, July 26, 2010

Yo, first things first: got the car all loaded up, and we're on our way to Ann Arbor right now.

Fuck yeah she is.

Barring any major traffic accidents, me driving off the side of a mountain in Tennessee, one of my wheels flying off and us careening into oncoming traffic, my car exploding, Heckyeahwoman unbuckling my seatbelt opening my car door and pushing me out the door, a drunk driver plowing into us head on, a dude in a helicopter firing a rocket launcher at my car, Rambo stabbing me with his bowie knife, our cat freaking out in the car and biting my jugular, or a SCUD missile being launched right at my face, we should be there by early Tuesday afternoon.

Haha, speaking of driving with HeckyeahWOMAN, do you remember my post about Heckyeahwoman and I hitting a tollbooth in Orlando, only for it to malfunction?

And then she blamed me for the toll booth not working properly?

Well guess what...after an amazing honeymoon, we had to encounter that same troublesome tollbooth again.

There it was, looming in the distance. As we approached, we both joked about "the last time we were at this tollbooth".

Would the newlyweds survive the harrowing experience once again? Would our marriage last?

Good news: we're about to find out, pussybeatz.

OK, I totally can't remember what happened with the tollbooth; I have no idea if it malfunctioned again. HECKyeahwoman didn't answer the phone when I called to ask if she remembered, so I don't really have a definitive answer for you.

But rest assured that if we hit any tollbooths on our drive to Michigan, I'll gladly take the blame if it malfunctions. In fact, I'll take the blame when Heckyeahwoman tells me to take a left, and we wind up in California.

Friday, July 23, 2010

I was at the gym last weekend hanging out, socializing, gettin' my talk on, and just chillin', when all of a sudden I notice some obese trick azz bit walk in, arms all a-jigglin'.

WTF ho.

Apparently she was inquiring about tanning. Tanning.

Trick, it's a beautiful Saturday afternoon right now. Only reason I'm not outside enjoying the shit out of the weather is cause I did yesterday; and now I have a brutal sunburn. True story, a week later, and my arms are still peeling lol.

But back to the fatty.

She was talking to the owner about getting a tanning sesh in in. You could clearly tell he was holding back a snicker, as he glanced outside.

But goddamn she was ungodly overweight.

Anyway, I was on my way out, so I rudely interrupted the owner as he was telling Chubbs about the tanning packages (talk about my package, bro). No worries, "A'ight *****, I'm taking off, man. I need to get outside, it's beautiful out! Maybe work on my tan a little bit, see you tomorrow!"

Right as I said, "maybe work on my tan a bit", I totally looked at the fatty, and sneered at her. She knew what I meant. I like to think she did.

By the time she decided whether she was gonna tan or not, I was already gone. Bummer, I'll probably never know if she was able to read between my lines.

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

So check this out, quick little PUMPY story about our honeymoon. And it doesn't include any consummation. Awwwwwwwww yeah.

First day, we get to the first fancy hotel, and they have a "wine and cheese reception" every evening from 6-7. Lucky for us, we were always around at that time...uh, so we hit the wine and cheese reception every day we stayed there.

Most of us know what wine does to you - it gets you drunk.

Similarly, most of us know what cheese does to you - it constipates you a little bit.

Finally, most of us know what any food does to me - it gives me explosive diarrhea.

WINE AND CHEESE PUMP! EXPLOSIVE DIARRHEA UNPUMP!

So after three straight nights of wine and cheese from 6-7, we head to the next destination. Sadly, they didn't have a wine and cheese reception. But the owner of the property was really nice and helpful. He even suggested a couple fantastic restaurants to eat at.

His first choice, El Quenepa, was the first place we hit. Not even sure what that means, but elquenepo is a tree that grows these really tasty fruit nut things. Whatever. We drunkenly stumbled upon the place, and recognized the name, so we stopped in for dinner.

Of course the dinner was wonderful, as I ate the shit out of some MahiMahi. Then I ate the shit out of some insane flan.

Out of nowhere, "rumble rumble", my belly says. Excusing myself, I head to the men's room to unleash hell. All I could release was a slow trickle of urine.

Not worried, I head back to the table to get the bill, and bust. After a few more belly rumbles, my urge to get out of there intensifies. Sadly, the service was slow, but finally we're on our way.

Right as I pull up to our casa, it's go time. I had to shit so bad I could taste it. Seriously, I could. Disgusting. Being on the third floor was awesome, as we had an amazing view of the island, but that's three (3) goddamn flights of stairs I'm going to have to go up to get to the bathroom. Also love how the dude gave us two (2) keys that look exactly the same, and only one (1) unlocks the door. And I never choose the correct key first.

It's humid, and I've been sweating so hard for the last couple minutes. This brewing, steaming, almost certainly liquid bowel movement is only making me sweat more. The anticipation of whether or not I'll make it to the bathroom in time isn't helping either. Gettin' so PUMPED UP right now.

Finally the sweet sound of a door being unlocked rings out, and I dash for the bathroom. It was glorious. And I thought I was sweating furiously before the elimination lol, shoot, it was the during that got me.

The PUMPIEST BROWN-MAKING EVER.

It's funny, after the first couple days, eating so much cheese, and getting so plugged up, it makes sense that after the first day at the next place, I would destroy the laws of human biological waste excretion.

AND THAT MAKES FOR ONE PUMPED UP DUDE

EXTRA BONUS PUMP: I was riding my bike the other day and got hit by a car - dude was gonna run a red light, and didn't see me. That sucked.

Monday, July 19, 2010

Sorry to be still writing about the wedding almost a month later - it consumed our lives for weeks, and produced quite a few blog-worthy moments. So fuck you.

Anyway, as promised, here is a nice little write-up/review of the vendors we used. You know, just in case you were planning on getting married in Gainesville.

K&B's Kakes - They did our wedding cake. And by wedding cake, I mean we had these little truffles, instead of a traditional cake. They were about 2-bite size, had a hard, dark chocolate shell; and the inside was stuffed with somewhat moist flavored cake filling. Both in theory and fresh, these were the best things you could ever eat. In reality, and made by a mother-daughter team that thinks they're better than you; they were mediocre, if not stale. Ok, they were really fucking tasty, but still, could have been better. Whatever, did you catch the name? What fucking retards. Easily the most egregious and appalling lack of professionalism I encountered with the wedding, or ever.

Heckyeahwoman tried one of their truffles at a wedding expo, loved it, and wanted them to do her (our) wedding. Whatever, I don't give a shit, who fucks up cake? Impossible. So I called them to book it, and I've never been dicked around so much in my life. "We have another wedding that date". "We're free". "We can do your wedding". "Sorry, we'll let you know". Eventually, they were kind enough to grant us their truffle-services, but goddamn.

And then there was actually dealing with them, getting the flavors and everything figured out. I admit, I didn't always answer the phone when they called (cause it was them calling), but I always listened to the message, and got right back with them, or shot back an email. Them? It would be days or weeks before they'd respond to my call or email.

To be fair, they did redeem themselves by not being seen, even for a second, at the wedding, when setting up the cake-truffle thing. That was pretty awesome. And everybody did seem to like their truffles. Would I book them again, for anything? Only if Heckyeahwoman really really wanted me to.

G-nys Entertainment - Our DJ. Easily one of the many bright spots of the entire wedding. He didn't fuck one thing up. When we first met with him while looking for a DJ, we were kind of scared because he had a very slight Jersey Shore vibe. But after talking with him for just a couple minutes, we both knew that he was gonna be our DJ - even though he was the first guy we met with. Thanks again to G-nys Entertainment for being so awesome.

Also worth noting, he brought someone (maybe an assistant, or apprentice?) with him. The dude just stood there, totally silent, out of the way, in a white shirt and tie. Totally dressed nice enough, but kind of weird how he just stood there. Maybe he wasn't with the DJ lol. I have no idea. And he had long-ass dreadlocks.

Sweetwater Inn - Where we got married. Absolutely beautiful - a wonderful place to have a wedding. The staff was very helpful, and the food was amazing. Amazing. Only gripe: they nickel-and-dimed us to death. I mean, if I were a jar of change, I'd be dead. To be expected, I guess, but $25 for a highchair (for a kid), during the reception - really?

Even though it rained, they had the inside set up perfectly. Well except for the seating for dinner, they fucked that up a little bit. Eh.

Oh, and we stayed at the honeymoon suite there on site - shit was baller, son. In-room hot tub, dawg, you know how I do.

Phobooth - These weirdos brought a photobooth to the wedding. Everybody loved it, it was awesome. But quite the conundrum here: while the photobooth was a huge hit with everybody, the 2 workers that were manning the booth were obviously dating, and canoodling pretty heavily. Kinda weird - motherfuckers, this is my wedding, I'll do the fucking canoodling. Without a doubt, we'd let these weirdos come to our wedding again though.

Kate White Photography - Obviously our photographer. They were awesome. Only problem was that it was HOT AS FUCK, and I was getting CRABBY AS FUCK. Cause it was HOT AS FUCK. So Kate White Photography, if you're reading this, I'm sorry. They were good though, got us some awesome pictures at a great price. Would def book them again.

That's about it for the major things. Heckyeahwoman used a couple flower vendors, and well, I don't give a shit about flowers.

Friday, July 16, 2010

Went to karaoke one night a couple weeks ago, saw some dude do a great rendition of "U Don't Have to Call", by Usher.

And then he busted out Montell Jordan's "This is How We Do It".

Dude did a better-than-your-average-karaoke-singer's job of each song. Both times, everybody in the bar were into it. It was so memorable, in fact, that when I saw him at the same bar's karaoke night a couple days ago, I said what's up, and asked him if he was going to sing again.

Nicely, he replied something about getting there a little late, but he was going to do the Usher song again.

After grabbing my drink, I say, "Awesome", and head back to my friends.

Sure enough, a couple songs later, dude is kicking out "U Don't Have to Call", walking around the club (*da club), slappin' high fives, and GETTIN' THE PARTY POPPIN' WUT EH YO. Good job, homeslice.

Later that night I find myself walking back to the bar fo' some mo' purple drank, and here comes the dude, hand up, looking for a high five. Weird. Maybe not that weird. Anyway, he blocks the path to the bar, asks me, "D'ya like that?".

"Yeah man, great song, good job dude", as I give him his high five.

Obviously not satisfied, he asks me for my name, as he goes for the handshake. "****, nice to meet you", as I shake his hand.

Still not satisfied, he gets out his smart phone, and I notice the familiar blue background of facebook on his little screen. "What's ya last name, man?"

"Uhh, for what dude?", I inquire - but strangely leave out the inflection present in most questions, making it sound more like a straight up statement.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

As most of you know, I saw Screeching Weasel for the first time just over a month ago. That's enough PUMP for 300 HUMP DAY PUMP UPS.

The only song I really wanted to hear, easily my favorite SW song, or even favorite song of all time: "TOTALLY".

They did not play it.

Almost enough for DEPUMPING 300 DAYS OF HUMP DAY PUMP UP. Almost. Regardless, they were awesome.

Also no "Ashtray". Bummer.

It's funny, whenever I listen to this song, I immediately relate to the lyrics; but then I think about it for a second, and realize that I totally can't identify with the song at all. OK, the getting out of bed at noon part is totally my style. But as Ben Weasel is singing about his life "going down the tubes", I would sing about my life "going up the tubes", because awesome things keep happening to me.

They played probably 25 songs, about 5 of which I didn't know - they were from the band's more questionable post-1999ish output. All in all a great set, by one of my favorite bands.

Finally, it came down to the last song of the night, and I knew it had to be either "What We Hate" or "Ashtray", and since you've been reading today, you know it wasn't "Ashtray".

What an awesome song, SO PUMPED when the opening chords started! After they finished, he thanked the crowd, the lights came on, and the awesome was done. Actually it wasn't, cause I was on my way to getting more and more tanked.

BONUS SUPER EXTRA PUMPY HIGHLIGHT OF THE NIGHT:

The crowd went apeshit when the first notes rang out.

What an awesome night.

Had a sweet free hotel in Orlando too DOUBLE PUMP FUCK YEAH.

A little HDPU trivia: I think Screeching Weasel has been featured in HDPUs more than any other band. In fact, I'm pretty sure these videos have been posted 2, maybe 3 times. You can sit around and cry about it, or you can join the world GETTING PUMPED UP.

Monday, July 12, 2010

I've been called racist before. In fact, it's happened many times. I can't say I disagree; I hate any and all different types of races. I believe that my race is superior to any other race. I believe that all other races are inferior.

This should come as no surprise to most of you that know me.

I hate greyhound racing. People who race horses are pussies, and I hate them. NASCAR fucking sucks. I piss on funny car racing. Drag racing is dumb. Track and cross-country racing, also horrible. And soccer. Not technically a race, but super-shitty.

What about mixed-races? Bad Christ, don't get me started. Those are the worst! Take a triathlon - swimming, biking, and running? All at the same time? How the hell are you supposed to do that?!?! Stick to one race, pussybeats. So confusing, my head is going to explode.

The only races I like are the ones that I'm involved in. My race. My races. As you can tell, I'm very particular about what types of races I'll even think about enjoying.

Go-kart races are awesome, but only if I'm on the track, and a bunch of little black kids are ramming their karts into mine - just like last time I raced go-karts. Fuck yeah, that's awesome. So funny when they learn that a 75 lb kid in a go-kart is gonna spin out when crashing into a 200lb Adonis in a go-kart. Physics - get into it, you little fuckers.

Also bike races. I like bike races. But being the racist that I am, I'm very particular about them; not all bike races are created equal. I only like the races where I race against my friends that aren't faster than me. Other than that, bike racing sucks balls. Or in Lance Armstrong's case, sucks one ball.

So the next time someone calls you racist, don't feel bad; own up to it. Let 'em know you think Dale Jr is gay. Go ahead, admit it; old one-nut Armstrong is a juicehead. And watching bike racing is lame as shit anyway.

Maybe you don't like the stigma that today's bullshit society attaches to being a racist. Maybe you want a less polarizing way to describe your views on race. If that's the case, then you're a pussy. Don't be afraid to let everybody know that yeah, you think some races are inferior.

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Don't be deceived by the relatively short length of this HDPU: there's A LOT of PUMP in here.

Like 3 days before the wedding, I ran into the bathroom to spill a little urine right quick. No biggie. Since we were about to have a couple house guests for the next couple days, and I was already in the bathroom, I might as well clean the turlet up a bit. Pulling the roll of paper towels from the cabinet under the sink, I notice a little piece of paper fall onto the ground.

It must have been stuck on the bottom of the roll.

Might as well pick it up and throw it awa-WHAT THE FUCK!

It's a torn off piece of wrapper from one of these goddamn things:

Uhhhhh, Heckyeahwoman, wtf?

First thought: SON OF A BITCH FUCK FUCK FUCK SHE MIGHT BE PREGNANT IM GOING TO KILL MYSELF.

Second thought: why the hell would she, or anyone, take a pregnancy test in my cesspool of a bathroom?

Third thought: Goddamnit.

At the time I had no idea, but potentially the biggest PUMP of my life came when Heckyeahwoman got home a couple hours later and told me that she's not pregnant. And that the wrapper wasn't even from her pregnancy test. She reminded me that she only steps foot in my bathroom when it's an absolute necessity. And taking a pregnancy test in a filthy environment is not an "absolute necessity".

Fair enough.

Must've been a wrapper stuck in the cabinet from a former tenant. Or maybe Heckyeahwoman's sister - who has stayed here (and used my bathroom) multiple times. Who knows.

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

OK, we're back from the honeymoon. I have clean underwear/banana hammocks, and with the exception of packing/cleaning/moving, I should be able to whip out some quality posts with semi-regularity.

Like my bowels. Exactly like my bowels.

Coming soon will be a nice little wedding write up, mostly just a review of the vendors we worked with. That should be coming up in a couple days. Or "soon". Whichever comes first.

"sweet meatloaf post"

Must've been a couple weeks ago when we found ourselves at a bar. A bar that featured karaoke.

It was sweet: not only did the bar do the typical karaoke words on a screen, but they showed the music video that accompanied the song. Heck yeah. Not sure why I care about stupid music videos, but it was a nice touch.

Halfway into the night, this classic joint comes on:

Lul at the still shot on the clip.

Anyway, what is so funny about the video - besides the video itself?

Nothing really, other than the drunken thought I had while singing along with the chorus, in my head: "I would do anything for love, but I won't do that".

"Yeah, if you won't do it, I'm sure someone else will".

And they will.

Clearly the unmentioned subject of this song is ANAL SEX.

Other awesome bonus story from the bar that very same night: after drinking a couple beers, I realized I needed to kick the party up a notch. It was just me, my homeboy *******, and a bunch of broads out, so yo, lemme get some sauce. Since I didn't have a collar to pop (I was wearing a t shirt), the only way to jump start things was to get some whiskey.

"HEY TRICK LEMME GET THAT JIM BEAM DOUBLE ON THE ROCKS YESTERDAY", I yell at the portly bartender.

"HOW MUCH I OWE U?" Yes, I said U, not you. She told me it was $9. I threw a crumpled up $10 at her, and told her to "KEEP ALL THE CHANGE".

Right as I'm about to exit the bar, here's my friend *****. So I chatted with her for a minute, and all of a sudden her eyes noticed my HUGE

glass of whiskey. For some reason I was a little salty about the price of it, so I tell her, "It was 9 goddamn dollars, I should get my dollar tip back".

And just like that, the bartender hands my dollar bill tip back over to me.

Awkward.

Don't worry, I put it back on the bar; and we ROFLed as we walked back to our group.

Thursday, July 1, 2010

Sorry for the lack of posts, been too busy vacationing, partying, being awesome, eating great food, livin' the life, and consummating things.

We'll be back eventually, probably in a week or so, but keep checking back because we hiked in the rainforest to a waterfall the other day, and while we're all hanging out in the waterfall, I look downstream about 100 feet and see some retard painting his entire upper body with mud.

Seriously, this shithead was completely covered, from the chest up, in mud.

Fucking mud.

You hike for half an hour, sweat your ass off, and instead of taking in the beauty of an awesome waterfall, you sneak downstream and play in the mud.

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tall man on the loose in tampa area

True story, there is a tall man terrorizing the Tampa area. This weirdo usually hangs out around parks, trying to find pick-up games of basketball - during which, he will grab the ball and maneuver around so that you come into contact with his stinky, naughty bits.

Truly an unpleasant experience.

His signature move is the "bait and switch junk grab". As you're grabbing for the ball, his junk magically appears. In the way of your hand.

Another one of his famous moves is to let the ball go loose, then as you scramble for it, his sweaty ass gets in the way. Of your face.